


That Looks Good On You

by Artemis Entreri (ArtemisEntreri), Jarlaxle



Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: (mention of bare penises in the open), Crack, Fanart, Humor, M/M, RP, nsfw-ish, outfit swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisEntreri/pseuds/Artemis%20Entreri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarlaxle/pseuds/Jarlaxle
Summary: Entreri finds himself inexplicably wearing Jarlaxle's usual outfit. Jarlaxle's solution? Wear Entreri's outfit of course! Entreri vents his displeasure by seeing each outfit returned to their proper owners while Jarlaxle hopes that things will go somewhere during the undressing.





	1. What Started It All

**Author's Note:**

> [[ Cross-posted from my Artemis Entreri roleplay blog on Tumblr, by request of those who left the platform but still wishing to access these writings. 
> 
> This is a direct copy & paste from an RP thread, so there will be a lot of head jumping back and forth between Artemis and Jarlaxle. I'll use line breaks to indicate the perspective jumps.
> 
> Some "chapters" should contain images. If for some reason the image hosting fails and they no longer show up, making the text-only responses a bit nonsensical, please let me know. ]]


	2. Chapter 2

Jarlaxle claps his hands together and grins. “We must get you into more of my clothing, my friend.”

* * *

Entreri scowls and folds his arms, the uncomfortably tight vest pinching him as he does so. “More importantly, why are you wearing mine?” the assassin asks with no small measure of annoyance in his voice.

* * *

Jarlaxle blinks. “What else was I supposed to wear, since you are wearing my clothes?”

* * *

Entreri does not respond and simply continues to scowl at the drow.

* * *

Jarlaxle’s eyes widen as he drops one foot back a step and brings a hand before him.

“Why, Artemis, surely you are not suggesting that I do something so immodest as being  _naked_  in your presence?”

* * *

Entreri snorts at the notion that Jarlaxle would care about being immodest. With a nod to indicate his clothing that is currently donned by the mercenary, the assassin instructs, "Take them off.”

* * *

Jarlaxle gasps and wraps his arms around himself. He regards Entreri with a scandalized expression.

* * *

Entreri heaves a great sigh of exasperation, unfolds his arms and walks towards the drow.

* * *

Jarlaxle shuffles backwards and regards Entreri demurely as he tightens his self-embrace. “Please, no, good Artemis, don’t sully me,” the mercenary says in a waif-like manner.

* * *

Entreri reels back onto his heels momentarily, staring at Jarlaxle in disblief. Then, with a growl and three quick strides forward, he seizes the drow’s slender arm in a vice-like grip. The deft fingers of his free hand work quickly to disengage his cloak from about the mercenary’s shoulders.

* * *

“Ahhh, nooooo…!” Jarlaxle cries in the waifish tone as the assassin seizes him. He makes a show of twisting feebly but futilely in the man’s grasp. He lets out another scream as Entreri tugs at the cloak fastenings and huddles in on himself further. Forcing his eyes to moisten, the mercenary looks imploringly up at the assassin and begs in a shaky voice, “Please stop this, Artemis. I’m but a simple drow. Surely you would find more pleasure elsewhere.”

* * *

Entreri rolls his eyes at Jarlaxle’s dramatics. He pulls his cloak away from the mercenary’s shoulders and tosses it aside, then glares down at the drow’s feet, which are, of course, covered by his own boots. The assassin returns his deadpan stare to lock the mercenary’s eyes as he forces the drow backwards to his bed.

The irritated man does not bother to ensure that his companion would land soundly on the cot before he shoves him towards it. Once Jarlaxle’s feet fly free from the floor, Entreri proceeds to reclaim his boots.

* * *

Jarlaxle lets out a peep as Entreri roughly tugs the cloak away. Though he shrivels under the assassin’s withering gaze, he only allows the assassin to see the mischievousness dancing within his ruby eyes for a heartbeat before he flings himself onto the bed with more force than the human’s push should have generated.

“Ahhh-!” the mercenary cries as he crashes against the bed, then quickly curls up into the fetal position. He lets out a whimper with every tug by Entreri on the boots, and draws his legs against himself when the man has removed both pieces of footwear.

“Please, no more,” the drow implores in the faux pathetic tone. “Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

* * *

Entreri lets out a long sigh of exasperation. “Do you ever stop?” he snaps as he grabs Jarlaxle’s shoulder and forcefully pushes the mercenary to his back against the bed. The assassin curses as he notes that the crafty drow has fully donned his armor, all of the various belts and buckles along the leathers latched and secured.

Clenching his jaw in anger, he starts the tedious process of undoing all the fastenings that normally serve to ensure that his armor snugly fits his whipcord-lean and wiry frame. He notes with no small amount of disturbance the degree of familiarity that the mercenary has with his gear, as evidenced by how swiftly and accurately the drow managed to don the entire raiment. His concern causes him to go at his task more ferociously than before, at times heaving Jarlaxle’s torso a few inches off the mattress as he seeks to pull not fully unbuckled armor away.

* * *

Jarlaxle gasps as Entreri pins him, then makes a huge show of attempting to cover still fastened buckles with his hands, uttering squeaks and whimpers as the assassin plows through his “feeble defenses”.

“Do I ever stop?” the mercenary repeats in a quivering voice, his jaw artificially trembling to match his tone. “How could you say that, Artemis, when you’re the one ravaging me?”

His enjoyment of his ruse is curtailed by the annoyed human’s none-too-gentle tugs. Inattention causes the first jerk on his borrowed armor to snap his neck backwards more painfully than he anticipated. Reminding himself of just how dangerous is the person that he is teasing, Jarlaxle carefully adjusts his body to minimize any possible damage. He keeps an even more cautious eye on Entreri’s disposition, for while he is highly interested in teasing the assassin to the limits, he has little desire to experience what would happen should he go past those limits.

The mercenary allows his relaxed body to flail within the assassin’s grasp, crying out helplessly at appropriate moments. When the last piece of armor is torn from his torso, Jarlaxle curls up again and trembles more violently than before. “Please, enough, Artemis. I’ll give you anything, just please, leave me be,” he begs in the very best impression of a pitiful and pathetic waif.

* * *

Entreri snorts. “Apparently, the ‘anything’ that you are willing to give does not include what is rightfully mine but is currently in your possession,” he replies dryly as he pulls his armor away from the drow and tosses it aside. The assassin frowns down at his belt fastened about Jarlaxle’s slender waist.

The obnoxious drow had buckled on all of his belt pouches. From the way that they bulge, Entreri guesses that they contain his full set of tools. He glances to where he had laid his tools out, disassembled and awaiting his customary inspection in between jobs, and is not surprised to find the area empty. Entreri isn’t entirely sure why Jarlaxle felt the need to replicate his combat attire to this level of detail. However, the displeased man strongly suspects that the drow did it all simply to be maximally irritating. Sighing again, Entreri reaches for Jarlaxle’s waist.

* * *

Jarlaxle lets out a high-pitched scream and frantically pushes himself back away from Entreri. When his back hits the wall, the mercenary regards the assassin with a fearful expression. “N-no. N-not my chastity! Anything but that!” he stammers.

* * *

Entreri stares at Jarlaxle incredulously. “Do you even know the meaning of that word?” the assassin demands as he mounts the bed, not bothering to remove the mercenary’s boots that cover his own feet. He lunges at the drow, seeking to pin him against the wall.

* * *

Jarlaxle scoots along the wall to dodge Entreri’s lunge, flailing his arms as he crashes down against the mattress. Twisting his lower body away, he kicks weakly at the human. “No! Stay back!”

* * *

Caught between frustration, exasperation and to his chagrin, a small measure of amusement, Entreri growls as he bats through Jarlaxle’s halfhearted defenses. He straddles the drow, one booted foot extended to press against an ebony wrist. He throws his other knee against the mercenary’s chest, pinning him against the cot. The assassin pants as he exerts his strength through the uncomfortable and unnatural position. His nimble fingers quickly work through the various buckles, seeking to reclaim his belt before Jarlaxle squirms away. 

* * *

Jarlaxle blinks in surprise at the amount of vigor Entreri is dedicating to his endeavor. He glances at his wrist, pinned by one of his own boots. His smooth black skin shows signs of abrasion under the human’s trod. He knows that the force of Entreri’s knee against his torso, while significant, is not applied in such a way that would prevent him from escaping if he really wanted to do so. No doubt that the human is aware of that fact as well, yet there is something undeniably compelling about literally being under Entreri’s foot. Smiling mischieviously, he launches into gags, coughs and gasps for breath. He grabs at the assassin’s thigh with his free hand, choking out, “I… I c-can’t breathe!”

* * *

Entreri tunes Jarlaxle out until he undoes the final belt buckle. Pulling the belt free and throwing it aside to land atop his reclaimed armor, he moves smoothly forward, adjusting his body so that his legs are once again beneath him. One hand replaces the boot that had pinned one of the drow’s wrists. His sensitive fingers crush against the gritty dirt left behind on the drow’s pristine obsidian skin, the sensation causing an inexplicable jolt of excitement to shoot down his spine. A cruel urge seizes Entreri, compelling him to lean forward and press his free hand against the mercenary’s throat. Grinning wickedly, the assassin pronounces in soft tones, “Do you wish to experience what struggling for breath is really like?”

* * *

The mercenary is suddenly aware of his heart thumping in his chest. His quickening breaths rasp past the hand against his windpipe and he subconsciously licks his lips. His eyes roll back as he savors the moment, relishing the sensation of being totally defeated, if only for a few heartbeats.

* * *

Coming out of his trance, Jarlaxle locks gazes with Entreri. His free hand falls from the human’s leg, yielding.

* * *

Entreri watches Jarlaxle closely, his gray eyes raking the drow’s features. The mercenary’s gaze locks his own and the assassin shivers as he beholds the acceptance - even joy - within those ruby orbs at being so thoroughly defeated. Without thinking, Entreri moves his hand from Jarlaxle’s throat to run his fingers across the drow’s face. Despite the choking grasp that the assassin had enacted, the mercenary’s carmine eyes hold no fear. Instead, Entreri finds something akin to wistfulness within the crimson depths.

The assassin grimaces as another inexplicable stirring courses through him unbidden. His features darken as he considers Jarlaxle, still wearing HIS shirt, laying in a deceptively vulnerable position. Despite his irritation at the mercenary’s ceaseless manipulations, Entreri says nothing, only continuing to steadily hold his gaze. His fingers trace down the length of the drow’s neck, pausing in the dip of the jugular notch for a heartbeat before continuing down to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

Jarlaxle’s eyes widen at Entreri’s unexpected and intimate gesture. His breath catches in his throat as the human runs his fingers along his jugular. A sigh escapes the mercenary’s lips when the assassin’s caress pauses at the base of his throat. The drow finds himself paralyzed by the intensity of the human’s gaze, so much so that his clever mind is having trouble deciphering the meaning in Entreri’s dark expression. He moans faintly as he feels the assassin’s dexterous fingers slide down his chest and work themselves in between the buttons of the borrowed shirt. He feels his head grow light as blood rushes from his head to other parts of his body. The human is definitely getting the better of him.

“No, Artemis,” Jarlaxle whispers, his tone sounding unconvincing to even his own unfocused mind. He tries to convince his free arm to move to inhibit the assassin’s motions, to do  _something_  to stop the human’s unimpeded victory. However, all that he manages is keeping the arm still, preventing it from following the desire to aid in his companion’s endeavors by pulling the shirt free.

* * *

Entreri smirks at the feebleness of Jarlaxle’s protest. Despite being pleased at beating the wily drow at his own game, the assassin is unsettled by the cause for the mercenary’s paralysis. Though no stranger to seduction, the practical man prefers in his work to use more straightforward techniques and rely on his more tangible skills. Now, pinning Jarlaxle with his will rather than his physical prowess, Entreri wonders if the cause for his disturbance lies more with the possibility that this is just yet another ruse within the crafty drow’s elaborate web of ruses or the chance that the all too experienced mercenary could be thus affected by him. The assassin finds within himself something akin to fear as he ponders this, and the realization causes him to snarl with anger.

Curtly he unfastens the remainder of the buttons and pulls the shirt free, then tosses it to his pile of reclaimed garments. He grimaces as he begins to work the laces on his stolen leather breeches. A mixture of dismay and something else not immediately identifiable that he is not sure he wants to work out crossing his mind as he futilely attempts to pick around the bulge at the drow’s groin.

* * *

Jarlaxle shivers as Entreri whips the shirt away from him, the brief chill cooling his thoughts enough for him to continue his game. He throws his arms about his chest, crossing his wrists over the space between his pectorals. “Pervert!” he accuses as he twists his torso to the side. The drow bites his lip to suppress a moan as the human’s dexterous fingers brush against his member, the trouser’s loosening fit seeming to only encourage the organ to swell even more quickly. He lets out a shaky exhale as his sensitive flesh rubs against the smooth material of the breeches.

* * *

Entreri scoffs at Jarlaxle’s accusation. “Like you’re one to talk!” the assassin snaps back. He glowers at the tighty strung laces, his scowl deepening with each time he has to brush his fingertips against the taut leather in his effort to pull the drawstrings loose. After what seems like an eternity, he finally is able to pull the waist loose enough to pull the garment off of the thieving drow.

Actually doing so proves to be rather difficult, as the mercenary’s weight pins the item underneath him and Jarlaxle is in no mood to cooperate. Nonetheless, a few none too gentle tugs clears the trousers from underneath the drow’s rump. A censure dies in Entreri’s throat as his jaw drops open at the sight before him. His rage finally overcomes his shock and he yells, “What in the Nine Hells is wrong with you?! Why are you wearing MY pants without one of your absurdly-colored straps?!”

* * *

The drow moans softly each time the human’s fingers graze against him, the soft touches feeling like teasing and he bites back a breathless cry for more. The removal of his stolen trousers leaves his arousal in plain view. He curls up and peeks at Entreri over his arm. “Because you don’t wear anything underneath your breeches when you are in armor.” He buries his face again and wails. “Oh, don’t look at me!”

* * *

Entreri boggles at Jarlaxle. “How would you know that-” he begins, then stops and shakes his head. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.

The assassin’s lips draw together to form a thin line at the sound of the mercenary’s dramatic wail. "Don’t worry, I won’t,” he replies dryly as he gathers his reclaimed pile of clothing. Bundling the articles together within his cloak, he heads for the door.

* * *

Jarlaxle scrambles up into a sitting position and stares at Entreri’s back with unfeigned alarm. “Wait, Artemis! Where are you going?”

* * *

“To get the clothing you’ve soiled laundered,” Entreri snaps without looking back. He places a hand on the doorknob.

* * *

“But you’re still wearing my clothes!” The mercenary suddenly feels self-conscious in his nudity.

* * *

“Until mine are thoroughly cleaned,” Entreri promises.

* * *

“But… if you are leaving wearing my clothing and taking yours with you, what am I going to wear?”

* * *

Entreri simply shrugs and opens the door.

* * *

Jarlaxle scrambles out of the bed. “Wait, Artemis-…! NOoooooo!!!”

* * *

Entreri lets the door slam behind him and briskly makes his way out of the building. He smiles in satisfaction at the knowledge of the mercenary confined in his threadbare apartment. The assassin has no doubt that he won’t find the drow when he returns - that is, if he returns. Still, maybe some embarrassment will teach the irksome Jarlaxle something about messing around with Artemis Entreri. 

Despite being pleased at his victory, the triumphant man finds himself feeling a bit of something like remorse. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he mutters, “That damn drow’s eccentricity is starting to infect me,” as he briskly makes his way to a launder.

* * *

“Artemis! Artemis!!” It was futile, he knew. Sighing, the mercenary looks around, tsking as he finds nothing at all beyond a few pieces of plain furniture. He strolls to the dresser and looks through all of its drawers, finding nothing that he could use to cover himself with. He sighs again as he looks down at his naked self. His arousal was fast receding and the disappointment combined with his predicament causes a dull ache to grow within him. Defeated, he pulls the mattress off the bed frame, tears it and empties it out. He tears another hole on the other side and shamefully slips it over himself, then awkwardly starts on his way outside. He knows that he’ll draw more than a few curious stares, but he reckons that he’d have an easier time talking his way out of situations “dressed” as he currently is than he would running about the streets naked.

“Very clever, my  _abbil_ ,” Jarlaxle commends quietly as he puts on his most winning smile and sweeps out into the street. Almost immediately, a woman passerby sees him and screams. With no hat to tip, the mercenary just flashes her his perfect straight white teeth before continuing onward to brave more embarrassing encounters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Perhaps not the most satisfactory ending, but an ending nonetheless. ;P ]]

**Author's Note:**

> [[ For more Artemis Entreri related art, writing, and other goodies, check out my blog: http://artemis-entreri.tumblr.com
> 
> Come hang out with other Entreri (& Jarlaxle) fans on Discord: https://discord.gg/CF5zBc7 ]]


End file.
